


Break Time

by Teland



Series: Break Time [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-08-09
Updated: 1998-08-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: John needs a little something.





	Break Time

John F. Byers stretched out luxuriously in his chair. He   
could tell by the satisfying cascade of pops that it   
could've been a good one, had he allowed himself to stand.   
The sort of stretch that went right down to your pelvis   
and settled there with a sway and a thrust.

Surreptitious glance across at Langly. The straw-yellow   
hair, so soft on the hands, was a disaster. He'd been   
chewing on it again. They were, all of them, in that phase   
of newsletter production where the next tantalizing bit of   
paranoia was *just* out of reach. As such, they were   
chained to their respective desks, slowly going blind and   
insane at the never ending scroll of images, letters from   
the edge of society. 

It made him horny.

Of course, everything made him horny these days.   
Toothpaste. Popcorn. Joey Ramone. "Pet Sematary" was no   
Celeste Aida, but it was damned inspiring when sung in the   
vicinity of his balls. A permanent heaviness seemed to   
have settled itself in his groin. Heat and need and damn,   
but he was tired of settling himself behind assorted   
obstacles in mixed company. 

Langly was no help. Trying his hardest to look innocent,   
the gleam on those glasses nothing, *nothing*, compared to   
that glitter. Dead leaves coated with ice. Mean little   
slash of a mouth that felt so good... sharp, even teeth...

//Fuck this.//

Byers closed his eyes for a moment, set about focussing all   
of his need in his face, trusting that Frohike was duly   
buried in his own research. 

"Langly." The sound of his own voice terrified him. Harsh,   
far lower than his usual tenor. Brief glance to Frohike's   
terminal revealed the older man hadn't moved.

"What is it?"

Clueless, utterly clueless.

"I think I found something you might find... interesting."   
The blonde head shot up. Byers made a mental note about   
"s" sounds and breathiness. 

"Really? What do you have, John?"

Byers spun a little toward his lover, made a show of   
adjusting his tie, but let one hand creep down his chest   
and lower. "Come and see."

Langly looked him up and down with ostentatious lust. This   
was quickly getting dangerous, but so long as that   
constant, irregular tap- tap from Frohike's terminal   
continued.... John could indulge. He ran a thumb over the   
seam of his suit pants, biting his lip against the giddy   
thrill of transgression, very, very happy he'd sprung for   
the 23" monitor. 

"All right, I'll do that then." The exaggerated calm nearly   
made him start giggling, the effort to suppress it sending   
another wave of lust through his body.

John could feel his eyes widening as Langly walked toward   
him, the ratty jeans doing little to hide the signs of the   
other man's arousal. Their eyes locked for a long moment   
before Langly rested a possessive hand on the back of the   
older man's chair and spun him around to face the screen.

"Whatcha got here, Byers?"

A dim, distant realization that the tiny reassertion of   
control had evened Langly's voice nicely and John was   
fighting the urge to blush. "Take a look."

Langly leaned in carefully, casually, cruelly close. John   
could feel his eyes glazing at the slight tang of the   
younger man's scent. If he leaned just a few inches closer   
he could bury his face in that pale, smooth throat and--

Oh, Jesus.

Slow, shameless hand. Clever hand. Evil hand. Byers stifled   
a groan in a cough, spread his legs a little farther   
apart. 

"Yeah, this is pretty interesting, Johnboy. Where'd ya hear   
about it?"

The whisper of his zipper being lowered killed several more   
brain cells, the sight of his cock, swollen with need and   
wrongly, wickedly in the same visual tableau of the HQ,   
nearly lost him the power of speech. "Oh... Some random   
ng..." Stroke. "Y-you know how--" Squeeze.

"Yeah, I do. Hey, what's that on your monitor?" Flip of   
thumb over the leaking head of his cock and he couldn't   
help himself. Grasped the forearm Langly was bracing   
himself with on the desk, threw his head back against the   
lean body behind him. 

"Hmmm...?"

"Never mind, I'll just use your handkerchief." The teasing   
hand left him and John nearly whimpered, but then it was   
digging much too hard in his breast pocket, pinching his   
nipple almost absently as it retrieved the square of   
linen. John pushed back into the taut belly as he arched,   
earned the tiniest of gasps, and then the hand was back   
where it belonged. 

A patter of nonsense from behind him, easy to hide his   
pleasure in the non-commital grunts of his replies, dig   
his fingers into the younger man's forearm, curse the   
squeaky chair that limited his thrusts. 

He was an addict for this, grown stupid and cock-heavy for   
his friend, needful and strange to himself and he wouldn't   
change a thing. 

The attempt to hold back his scream was only partially   
successful. John wasn't looking forward to having to   
explain how he'd bitten his lip clean through...

//Maybe I can walk into a door...//

"You know, John..."

"Yes?" Sleepy, sated, hoarse. He could hear the smug smile   
in Langly's voice.

"You seem a little... distracted. Maybe you should take a   
break?"

Quick glance revealed he'd been tucked away neatly again,   
the handkerchief stuffed rather unceremoniously in his   
pocket at some point. John stood as gracefully as he   
could, hiding the slight wobble of his knees in a stretch.   
A good one. The kind that glued hazel eyes to your body   
quite effectively. 

"I think you're right. Care to join me for a little...   
lunch?"

John let himself slump out the stretch, the sprawl of his   
limbs against the desk felt positively decadent. Long   
silence in locked eyes, challenge... request and   
acceptance. The air smelled like sex.

"Bring back a pizza. Anchovies."

Frohike's voice was a scary little shock. The fear,   
unsurprisingly, made Byers twitch. 

Langly's voice was dreamy. "Yeah, sure, Frohike.   
Anchovies."

It seemed as though they should be arguing that, but John   
suspected that if they even remembered to get the pizza it   
would be a feat. Another several moments of conspicuous   
want, and John could finally bring himself to turn away   
and go, Langly at his heels. 

He made a point to ignore the smirk on Frohike's face. 

****  
End.  
****


End file.
